


Grounded

by DaltonG



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Christmas, Fandot Creativity, Fluff, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 20:37:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9141325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaltonG/pseuds/DaltonG
Summary: A snowstorm hits Fitton on Christmas Eve. The employees of MJN Air are trapped in the portacabin!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NovaWynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaWynn/gifts).



> This takes place in a vague time after Molokai and before Princess Theresa. This is my fandot Secret Santa gift to Skip ([thesafepilot](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesafepilot/pseuds/Thesafepilot))! I hope this bit of fluff entertains. Happy 2017, my friend!

“Douglas, can’t you do something about this?”

“About the snow? No, I don’t actually have the power to change the weather. Yet.”

“About us being _snowed in_. There must be some way to get us off the ground.”

Douglas peered out the window of the portacabin. The snow had blown hard enough to be visibly piled up against the window itself.

“Carolyn, we cannot even move our _cars_. The client cannot get to us; therefore there is no need for us to take off. Even if the client was here, I cannot imagine how we would clear out three foot-deep snow for the width of GERT-I’s wheelbase and the length of the runway. I’m afraid you are just going to have to accept that we are spending Christmas right here on the ground.”

Carolyn growled, which was accompanied by a loud “Ohhhh!” from her son.

“We’re having Christmas in here?”

“Yes, Arthur,” Martin said. “There is no way to get out, as Douglas just explained. We will be in here for the foreseeable future.” He scooted his worn but serviceable office chair up to his desk and placed his arms neatly upon it, precisely perpendicular to the edge. There were no papers on the desk, just a small pencil cup with one pencil and two pens in it. Everything, at least on the desk, was tidy.

Arthur was quiet for a bit. The only sounds in the portacabin were the lumbering wheeze of the old heater and the whistling of the powerful wind, which periodically rattled the thin walls in an alarming manner.

Arthur brightened. “Well, at least we have the decorations!”

“Yes, we do indeed,” Martin said as Douglas and Carolyn groaned in unison.

The Christmas decorations had gone up around Halloween. Everyone but Arthur was thoroughly sick of the paper Santas, the gaudy foil “Merry Christmas!” and “Seasons Greetings!” banners, and the multiple sets of reindeer flying along each wall. (Arthur maintained that an airplane company needed more than one reindeer fleet. Just in case.) Silver and gold garland was draped so that the entire ceiling was covered in fluffy foil. (Martin maintained that this was a significant fire hazard.)

The only garnish that actually cheered Martin were the loops of multicoloured lights that had gone up the week before. Arthur had discovered them in his house’s attic, to Carolyn’s dismay, and they blinked on and off, strung against the walls amidst the reindeer. They reminded Martin both of runway lights and of the huge multi-hued tree from his childhood, before his mother had insisted on white lights only (“So much classier!”).

“Do we have anything to eat, Douglas?”

“It’s your portacabin, Carolyn. Why are you asking _me_ all the questions?” Douglas grumbled, mostly for show, because as he grumbled, he was already rummaging in the tiny fridge.

“Oh please, let there be food,” murmured Martin. He’d had nothing but ramen for two days and had been counting on the catering on the flight. He didn’t see the sharp look Arthur gave him.

“It appears that we have an old chicken sandwich, as in Days of Molokai Yore. Wait! Make that _two_ old chicken sandwiches.”

Martin tried not to sigh audibly.

Carolyn chimed: “And all the coffee and tea you can drink…”

“...yet without any milk,” Douglas finished.

“Cheer up, chaps! We have Christmas carols!” Arthur turned a small portable radio to a particularly obnoxious version of “Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer.”

“If we must, at least let this be our soundtrack.” Douglas changed it to Classic FM and an a capella rendition of “Carol of the Bells”.

“Douglas, give me my Talisker and we can have some liquid sustenance.”

“It’s _my_ Talisker, won--”

“--STOLEN--”

“--fair and square, and I don’t have it here.”

“Absolutely you _do_ have it here, I’m certain I saw it hidden in my office.”

“Then you should be able to find it, it’s your office.”

“Get in here, and get it out.”

“Absolutely not.”

Carolyn dragged Douglas into her office and shut the door rather forcefully.

“Hey Skip,” Arthur said softly as he sat in front of Martin’s desk.

“Yes, Arthur?”

“You seem down.”

“Well, we are trapped in the portacabin on Christmas.”

“But that’s not it.”

“We won’t be flying Carolyn’s client, which will make her crosser than usual.”

“But that’s not it…”

Martin sighed. “To be honest, I was really looking forward to the catering.”

“I know you were, Skip.”

Martin looked up, and Arthur shrugged as if to say that he was well aware of Martin’s lack of grocery funds.

“...But that’s not it.”

“If you must know, Arthur, I had a date this time last year. And I haven’t any since. With no hope of any in the future.” Martin was proud that his voice hadn’t cracked.

Arthur sat quietly, watching him. Having someone sit and listen to him instead of being too preoccupied with student issues, like his roommates, or too busy playing a game or making fun of him, like his co-pilot, was too much for him to take, and the floodgates opened.

“I’ve only ever had three dates in my life, Arthur. Three. Two were arranged by my mother in high school, and the last was, well, last year. And it was awful. It was over before dessert. I have no money; I have an unglamorous job, and my hobby, which _is_ glamorous, bores the breath out of anyone who hears about it. I live in a garret and I have no friends. Yet another new year is on the horizon, and for someone who has landed his dream job, I just don’t really see much to celebrate this season. Or any season.”

Arthur put his hand atop Martin’s.

“I’m sorry, Skip.”

Martin nodded, looking down at the desk, where a tear plopped despite his best effort. He sniffled and rubbed his cheek with one fist.

“But you’re wrong,” Arthur went on. “You have friends, right here.”

“Co-workers, really.”

“No, Skip. Friends. Friends who would do anything for you. One friend in _particular_ , actually. Though you don’t really know it. Mostly because I haven’t told you.”

“Told me what?”

“That I would like to be your _particular_ friend.”

“That’s nice of you, Arthur.”

“No, Skip. It’s not nice of me. I’m trying to tell you that I don’t just want to be your _friend_.”

Arthur caught Martin’s gaze and held it.

“Oh. Oh! Uh...gosh. I’m not sure what to say.” Martin blinked, feeling on the verge of tears again. Arthur felt that way? About _him_?

“You don’t have to say anything, right now. Just think about it, okay?”

There was shouting from the office, and the door banged open.

“I know you had some from the Hose and Hydrant!”

“You know that I always swapped it for apple juice!”

“Then where did you put the real thing?”

“I told you, I can’t remember!”

“And I told you, there is no way that you would have forgotten something worth more than two pounds!”

“Excuse me, Mum, are you talking about the Talisker?”

“YES!” came in angry stereo.

“I put it where you said to put it.”

“When?!” demanded Carolyn.

“When you told me to hide it!”

“I mean when did you--never mind, demented child. Where is the Talisker?”

“Like you said, someplace Douglas would never look!”

“Which is…?”

“In the back of the commode!”

“Oh good heavens.”

Douglas groaned; Martin made a distinct “ew” noise.

“What? It’s all nice and safe in its bottle." 

“ _What_ bottle?” Douglas demanded. “I’m using the Talisker bottle for apple juice.”

“In the apple juice bottle, of course!”

Carolyn and Douglas almost got wedged in the doorway to the loo as they rushed to retrieve the whiskey.

“Arthur, do you mean it?” asked Martin quietly. Arthur stepped around the desk and leaned down next to Martin, speaking into Martin’s ear at a near-whisper.

“I really do, Martin.”

The warm breath made Martin shiver. He turned his head, nearly bumping noses with Arthur, whose eyes were sparkling.

“Do you think,” Martin whispered, “maybe, if you’re not doing anything, this New Year’s Eve, that perhaps…”

“I’d love to, Martin.”

“I haven’t asked anything!”

“You don’t have to. Anything you are asking, I will do, as long as it means spending the evening with you.”

“Why are you two grinning?” Carolyn demanded. Both she and Douglas had dripping sleeves, and they both had a death grip on a large apple juice bottle.

“Just feeling the Christmas spirit,” replied Martin, grabbing Arthur’s hand under the desk.

 

~the end~

  



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